


Where's your Heart At?

by Mari_Knickerbocker



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Phil Coulson, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awesome Pepper Potts, Beta Pepper Potts, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Language, Mpreg, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Not Beta Read, Obadiah is a jerk, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Omega Bruce Banner, Omega Clint Barton, Omega Steve Rogers, Parent Clint Barton, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent-Child Relationship, Steve Rogers Feels, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline What Timeline, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Work In Progress, all the feels, bites everyone in the a$$, handwavy science/biology, inspired by Where the Heart Is, it just takes him a while to find it, it's fanfiction I do what I want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker/pseuds/Mari_Knickerbocker
Summary: Pregnant at 18 and abandoned by his chosen alpha, Steve Rogers tries to become known as something other than a 'spoiled' omega as he rebuilds his life; for his son’s sake if not his own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a story idea that came about in a period of time where I was ridiculously, stupidly, depressed/crippled by migraines and hopelessly unemployed and I was reading everything Stucky related I could get my hands on and re-watching _Where the Heart Is_ (along with ever other sappy chickflick I own) like I was getting paid. (side note: I'm a lot better now and once again employed).
> 
> I had stumbled across the Tumblr [Oh my omega!Steve and alpha!Bucky](http://ohmyomegasteveandalphabucky.tumblr.com/%20) and promptly fell in love with the idea of omega Steve Rogers and alpha Bucky Barnes. I had actually sent the idea in as a story prompt to the blog and in the end managed to just prompt myself – seriously this became like an ear worm that would not let me go.
> 
> FYI first Stucky fic I’ve ever written/posted here on AO3; I’ve always enjoyed them as an OTP and have always enjoyed reading what everyone else has contributed to the fandom, so I’m just asking you to be kind (like I know you to be) I was nervous about this.
> 
> Coincidentally this is also my first time writing anything with the alpha/beta/omega dynamics tag. I did some research on the AU and I’ve read/bookmarked a number of fics that deal with this type of alternative universe so my ideas are a smorgasbord of everything I’ve read/researched. I don’t really have a clear cut idea of how this works – just cherry picked what I liked – but for an idea of what kind of universe I’m working with here just read the stories I’ve bookmarked (they ain’t bad either). Big help on getting everything (like that pesky male omega biology) squared away in my own head was Omegaverse, Man’s [Omegaverse: Masterpost](http://fanndists.tumblr.com/post/115147799974) seriously that helped me consider things I never would have. 
> 
> A lot of that is just background stuff though since I kept this fairly close to the plot of the movie _Where the Heart Is_. Quite a bit of the dialogue is paraphrased, out right borrowed, from the film so if you recognize it I don’t own it. Hopefully if I've done my job right what we have here is a melting pot of the plots of _Iron Man_ and _Where the Heart Is_. Sadly I don't own either of those films, although I might wish it were otherwise.
> 
> As far as MCU canon is concerned this occurs around the time of the first Iron Man movie. I did research (and used) dates as they occurred on the [MCU wiki’s timeline](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline%20). In fact I’ve used the birth dates for all the characters as listed on their profiles from the MCU wiki to get the birth dates for them in this AU - with one exception where I used the date of birth for the character from _Where the Heart Is_. (Fun fact: I’ve kept the day and month of birth the same for each character as it is noted – if it is noted – in the MCU wiki and only changed the year to suit my needs). For example canonically Tony was born May 29th 1970 well in this work his date of birth is May 29th 1972, making him thirty-two at the start of the story instead of thirty-four. Whereas this Steve was born on July 4th 1986 instead of July 4th 1918 making him only eighteen.
> 
> Seriously when I say this idea has been like an ear worm that will not leave me be I am not kidding – there‘s a twenty+ paged outline saved on my WIP jump drive to prove it.
> 
> Okay enough with the disclaimers/notes/explanations it’s probably well past time I allow this work to speak for itself.
> 
> Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a... well it's not really a meet-cute and not sure if you'd want to qualify it as a meet-ugly either....but it's defiantly a meeting.
> 
> As far as Steve's concerned it would've been better off for everyone involved if it hadn't happened at all. Unfortunately for him Tony doesn't agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: for implied/attempted rape/non-con
> 
>  
> 
> August 5th: I now have a beta for this and have updated this chapter after she reviewed it. Thanks so much to the viintersoldiier for agreeing to take this on!

In many ways, for a lot of people, Steve resembled the quintessential omega; what with his petite frame and delicate bones topped off with a mop of sandy blonde hair and Disney princess (trademark pending) baby blue eyes he easily passed for, well, a Disney princess. Aside from a few anomalies – i.e. his large hands, too deep voice, and somewhat combative disposition – he was the omega of society’s collective wet dream. And Steve couldn’t stand it. In fact, he often thanked his lucky stars for those quirks of personality that outright contradicted the characteristics of a ‘perfect’ omega. Especially since the qualifications were so woefully outdated and desperately in need of some modernization.

In short, they were the worst fucking double standard Steve had ever come across, and he’d really thought that as a whole, humanity would have progressed beyond the stereotypical pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen housewife/damsel in distress image touted by previous generations. If not for these antiquated notions, Steve would’ve never had a reason to dislike being an omega; but regrettably, they existed. Steve had never seen himself as some sort of precious china doll prone to breaking (despite all of his childhood ailments and the many ways in which he had already been ‘chipped’ – Abraham always told him that to be flawed was to have character) and he had never wanted to. He had always been his own person and always intended to be. He would not allow something as objective and out of his control as his secondary gender rule his life or dictate people’s perception of him.

After all he would never think to demand that a woman should adhere to such outdated gender roles as those prevalent in the 1950’s and earlier; so why should he, a modern omega man, adhere to outdated social norms? He doesn’t care for being pigeon-holed or type casted by anyone and disliked those who took one look at him assumed he was only a ‘delicate omega’ and dismissed him as unimportant even more – he never cared for bullies; didn’t matter where they came from or what designation they had. (And yes, he was self-aware enough to realize he was more than somewhat hypocritical when it came to his interactions with alphas – no one’s perfect,and at least he was aware of his own shortcomings).

He’s always had a hard time getting others to take him seriously. They’d take one look at his small stature – 5’3” and barely a 100 pounds soaking wet – and thought him a kid. Throwing omega into the mix made it downright impossible. Yeah, sure the laws protecting omegas and omega rights have improved over the years – slowly allowing omegas to become actual participating members of society and treated less like indentured servants/pleasure slaves. Omegas could now own their own property; they were no longer regulated to professions that emulated the traditional caregiver role, and most notably, they were no longer required to be the ward of an alpha relative until mating. Still, for all of that, there were many ways in which they were still considered second-hand citizens and even more people who believed that omegas were somehow lesser than everyone else.

If not for his adopted father, Abraham, Steve would’ve turned out as a far more argumentative and angst riddled teen then he already was. Still, for all of Erskine’s stabilizing influence, Steve’s default attitude resembled that of a scalded alley cat more than anything else; ‘cause once you got a chip on your shoulders that was twice as wide as you were long, it was damn hard to get rid of it. Especially when one took into account the fact that, thanks to that chip, Steve was able to survive those series of disastrous placements in foster care before Abraham came out of fucking nowhere to save the day, like Steve’s very own fairy godmother, or hum oh...er, well fairy godfather would probably be the more appropriate term. The few short years he had the privilege of being Abraham’s son helped to temper his naturally prickly disposition. Now, thanks to Erskine’s good influence, Steve only went and picked a fight when it was warranted, not because he was made at the world and couldn’t think of a better way to manage his anger.

Somehow, for some unfathomable reason, Erskine had seen something in the tiny prickly nine-year-old orphan that Steve never could find in himself, then took the time to bring it out of him. He had been the first adult, first person in a long time, to look at little Stevie Rogers – with his perpetually bruised jaw, bird bones, and a list of hospital stays to his name among other failings – and not see someone that was both helplessly (hopelessly) broken who was merely a few steps away from falling head first into his own grave. Abraham Erskine took one look at that angry little boy and bothered to look beyond the anger to the pain that fueled it then underneath that pain to find a lost lonely little boy. He gave Steve a home, a family in the form of himself and his niece Peggy and restored Steve’s sense of hope. Over the years Steve managed to not only get healthier but learned not to be so damn bloody minded in his pursuit to do the right thing.

(As soon as he managed to save up enough, Steve was marching to the nearest tattoo shop and getting Abraham’s maxim to ‘be a good man, not a perfect one’ engraved in his skin as a physical reminder for when it would slip his mind – and knowing him, that could be often).

It hurt knowing that the beta was no longer part of Steve’s life, even after three years, the pain of losing him remained. It did not matter that he’d only had Erskine as a father for just a handful of years before he was deprived of him; he had been family, and the closest to it that Steve had had since his biological parents death. In his grief, Steve found himself pissed off at Abraham for dying and ruining his second chance at having a family (he was even more royally pissed at Pegs for disappearing mere minutes after Abraham’s memorial service without bothering to think about what that would mean for Steve). Ultimately, however, he couldn’t really blame Abraham for the total collapse of his world as he knew it – yet again. It wasn’t the beta’s fault that everyone Steve ever loved ended up abandoning him; he was the common denominator in that equation, obviously the blame was his. Being angry with Abraham didn’t solve anything. If the man had been given the choice, Steve had to believe that Abraham wouldn’t have chosen to leave Steve behind (unlike his ma and Peggy). The beta had died during a terrorist attack doing what he’d always done – helping those in need. How could Steve fault him for that? After all, it had been that same impulse that had guided him into taking a chance on adopting an angry little boy with a suitcase full of issues to his name and not much else.

So yeah, he’s never had it easy, and has seen his fair share of tragedy (with a little bit of comedic relief mixed in) in his mere eighteen years, but things could always be worse than what they were. He knows this – intimately – and he’s never complained about it before. Alright so he has complained just not as much as he could. But this, the current chain of events he found himself saddled with, took the fucking cake.

Here’s how Steve Rogers finds his life turned upside down and right side up once more.

**~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

March 2004

Steve was rarely at his best at one in the morning, especially not after a six hour shift serving the Wall Street yuppies that frequented one of Midtown’s most popular bar and restaurants. He was tired and his feet were sore. He just wanted to get back to his rinky-dink little apartment, fall face first into his threadbare mattress to catch a few hours of sleep before he had to get up and do it all over again. Only this time, he would be catering to a lunch crowd full of business men and women brokering high-end deals instead of flashy twenty-thirty somethings trying to get laid. Because he was a sucker, he had agreed to cover a shift for Frenchie so he could go to some audition. He just needed to sleep. Seriously, he was dead on his feet, only a block away from his place, and sleep was the only thing he wanted from life right now. So with that in mind, he could be excused for not realizing what was happening right away.

And seriously, at first glance, there didn’t seem to be anything untoward going on.

He’d noticed the group in passing at first, not really aware of much more than the nose they caused on a relatively (for NYC at one am) unoccupied street. Truthfully, there did not seem to be anything noteworthy about the foursome, just some guys and a girl chatting away. There was nothing to distinguish them from any other group of young adults strolling down a city sidewalk after a Thursday night out on the town. It wasn’t until he drew nearer that he realized they were loitering near the opening of an alleyway, and that one of the guys was gripping the girl’s upper arm hard enough to bruise. He couldn’t tell for certain if the gesture was meant to be protective or proprietary, but either way-, he increased his pace. From what he saw, it looked as if the girl and the man holding onto her were a couple facing off against a pair of would be muggers. Regardless, someone was in need of some help and he was ready, willing, and eager to supply it.

His conviction that some sort of interference was called for had been reinforced, as he managed to catch a whiff of the sour smelling pheromones of a distressed omega approaching their heat and an alpha outside of rut attempting to soothe the omega. From the way the foursome was situated, Steve assumed that the omega was the girl. Whoever the alpha was they were pumping out enough ‘calming’ pheromones to drop an ox, but there was something off about them. Instead of mollifying, the smell was an aggravation and clearly doing nothing to reassure her; judging by the panicked expression Steve only now was close enough to see.

Reassessing the situation, he determined that the person in need was the girl. What he’d first mistaken as a couple standing off against a pair of would be muggers was something else altogether. He was now convinced that the poor girl had been caught out on the street close to the start of her heat and the men were now trying to either force her into sharing it or force on bonding. Either one of those prospects would be devastating for the omega; on one hand, she was looking forward to being gang raped, and on the other, she could be both gang raped and forced into a bond. Which, for an omega, was tantamount to being spiritually raped – either way, it was a whole lot of ugly that she did not need in her life just because someone else felt _entitled_ to her heat.

Lurking menacingly over the girl, the men crowded her down the mouth of the alleyway. Hell bent on herding her out of sight, they didn’t notice Steve’s approach. Metaphorical hackles rising, he spared a split second thought to wonder why no one else had made a move to help – the street wasn’t completely deserted for shits sake! – but dismissed it just as quickly. He didn’t have time to right all the injustices of the world (would never have time for that even if he lived for a million years) and right now he had bigger fish to fry than to stand around bemoaning the willful ignorance of the general population. Besides, by now he had gotten close enough to overhear what was being said and what he heard only enraged him further.

“C’mon sweet thang, you know you want my knot.” The douche-nozzle with his hand on her arm cajoled in a manner which he clearly thought was irresistible. It made Steve’s skin crawl to hear it, and judging from the way she struggled to get out of his grip, the feeling was mutual – obviously, he’d completely missed the mark if he was going for charming.

“No, I don’t.” She protested attempting to sound stern and not intimidated.

Steve admired her for that. He knew from experience just how difficult it could be to ignore the biological need to seek out a provider and assert one’s own will when in heat. What with hormones bouncing about every which way demanding that one nest and mate an omegas own biology turned against them; even in pre-heat, an omega’s biology was screaming for them to seek out an alpha to take care of them. It was damn hard to fight that urge, especially if there was someone ready and willing to lend a helping hand nearby and with the right ‘equipment.’ 

Despite what the current trends (more like, all the trends ever) in porn would have one believe, heats didn’t make an omega lose the ability to think rendering them nothing more than mindless sex fiends. It made everything stronger, better, sharper, but also focused the mind, almost exclusively, on the biological imperative to find a healthy mate and procreate. Becoming a mindless fuck machine was impractical, not to mention detrimental to the survival of the species – no one would think of hiding away from predators if all they were concerned about was getting off, and the nesting behavior that went hand in hand with heat clearly indicated that an omega was concerned with more than just getting their jollies. If the fuck or die trope popularized by porn actually reflected real life, then human beings would have never survived the Paleozoic era. Unfortunately, people tended to use that trope (and any other misconceptions as populated by porn) as an excuse for all sorts of behavior.

If Steve had his way, that was one excuse this particular asshat will never get the chance to use to justify his sleazy behavior. 

“Don’t know why you’re playing hard to get baby. You’re only making things harder for yourself – look at you, practically gagging for it already.”

“Not from you.” She spat back, redoubling her efforts to break free.

The guy’s buddies sniggered obnoxiously at her struggles, and Steve was close enough now to scent them. They proved to be nothing more than a pair of two-bit beta thugs sucking up to an alpha. He used the flare of anger he felt towards them to urge his stubby legs into moving faster. Just a few more feet and he could start actually knocking heads together, instead of just fantasizing about their dumbfounded expressions after he broke their fucking noses for them.

“Really, honey, you should be nice to me. Especially since I went through all that trouble getting you a special drink,” with one last hard shove, the alpha pushed her into the alley, his beta cronies stepping up to flank him and prevent any further attempts at escape.

Vision turning red, and vocalizing a low reverberating growl (that would have been better suited belonging to an alpha) Steve threw himself into the fray. One well-placed boney elbow to the lower back took out the nearest beta and he went down with a surprised, and satisfying, yelp. The second bet whipped about, cutting in front of the alpha (who had started to turn around at the sound of his friend getting hit) and Steve shoved him hard, sending him stumbling into the alpha’s path. Both of them got their feet, so tangled up together that they ended up tripping over their still wheezing friend with the bruised kidney.

This bought the girl enough time to scramble to her feet and make a dive towards the end of the alley. Grabbing her by the hand, Steve pulled her further out of harm’s way and took off running down the street.

During all of that, he’d only gotten a quick glimpse of blonde hair and brown eyes blown wide with stifled panic set in a recalcitrant expression. Now, sparing a chance back to make sure the hand clutched in his own truly indicated that the omega was following him, he was startled to realize that he knew her.

Beth Walter, a fellow foster kid who Steve had met at his last placement before Erskine adopted him. She was a good kid, and just a few years younger than him; definitely still underage, since the last time he’d seen her she had only been seven years old to his nine, which would make her only sixteen now and the legal age of consent was still seventeen. Just when he thought he couldn’t dislike the scumbags that accosted her anymore, he found a whole new low. There were laws against forcing an omega to share his/her heat, and even stricter laws against forcing a bond (particularly since bonds weren’t considered legal until all parties were over the age of majority with the omega being at least eighteen – old enough to have a few heats under their belt and thereby know what they were getting into). Add in the fact that Beth was clearly underage, and Steve was positive they could press charges and get the alpha and his buddies fined, if not jailed. Because it would have been obvious to a blind man – based off of the type and shear amount of pheromones he had been pumping out alone – that the alpha had at least one, if not both of those things in mind.

But first they need to get away, Beth _**really**_ needed to get away.

Looking back again, Steve saw that the goons had managed to get themselves straightened out and were now in hot pursuit. Having mostly outgrown his childhood asthma, Steve was fairly certain he could continue in his head long rush of dragging Beth to safety and not risk an attack. Or, he could drop back to waylay their pursuers and give Beth a better chance at increasing her head start and reaching safety. He was fairly certain that Beth’s odds would increase exponentially if he were to act as a living obstacle.

Mind made up, he dropped her hand and turned around to face the goons. Beth hesitated long enough to look over and see what Steve was doing before continuing on, a grateful whimper floating over her shoulder as she passed him. And even though it left him alone to deal with an enraged alpha and his flunkies, Steve was proud to see that she didn’t linger. In this moment, her safety was far more important than his, and he was happy to know that she’d readily ditched him.

As the trio bore down on him, Steve could finally see who it was he’d picked a fight with this time. It didn’t surprise him in the least to discover that the obnoxious alpha was Brock Rumlow and the betas were Grant Ward and Carl Creel respectively. Steve was no stranger to these knotheads, having made a point of becoming a perpetual thorn in their sides moving into this area of Hell’s Kitchen. They were nothing more than a bunch of bullies, and Steve didn’t care for the way they tried to run the neighborhood like they were some sort of gangsters.

Still, that being said, there was no way Steve was walking away from this without getting bloody.

“You cost me my omega, Rogers!,” Rumlow growled sounding exactly like the Neanderthal everyone knew him to be. “Guess I’ll just have to take it out of your hide.”

With that he reached out and boldly picked Steve up by the scruff of his neck, and hurled him down the nearest alleyway.

**~***~**

_Smack!_

With a stinging swat, the force of Brock’s backhanded slap sent him reeling into the brick wall, only to bounce off of it and land painfully on his ass in the better left unidentified flotsam and jetsam of a Hell’s Kitchen alleyway. And that, well, that fucking stung – not just literally, but figuratively as well – slapping him like that it was Brock’s way of declaring that Steve wasn’t even man enough to be worth the effort of a proper punch. It was a deliberate hit to his ego, but Steve could take it. He’d take anything the belligerent alpha flung at him. (Perhaps if Steve had been the type of person more inclined to cherish his ‘precious’ male ego it would have bothered him more – but then he would have been a different person altogether, if that were the case).

“Why don’t you just stay down, Rogers?” Rumlow demanded as Steve picks himself up for the sixth time in roughly thirty minutes.

Grunting, Steve straightens himself out (as much as his crooked spine allows – and thanks to Erskine’s care, the scoliosis wasn’t as bad as it could have been) and raised his oversized hands in front of his face. For all the good it does him. Honestly, he’s not doing too bad this time around. Averaging about five minutes on his feet before getting knocked – or swatted – down, and giving nearly as good as he got. He’d be damned if he ended up the only one walking away from this bloodied and bruised.

“I can do this all day,” he parried, settling into his stance once more. Ignoring the sting from his fat lip and the throbbing bruises that indicated a possibly fractured cheekbone, not to mention the small trickle of blood over his left eye from his latest run in with the wall, he tilted his chin back to glare defiantly up at the man looming over him. Indulging in a wild grin – one that he knew showed off bloody teeth and made him look almost feral – he was pleased to see Rumlow take an involuntary step back.

“Crazy bastard,” Ward breathed out sounding both resigned and reluctantly impressed. “Ain’t no way for an omega to act.” Until then, both betas had been content to just watch as Rumlow wailed on the smaller man, occasionally making the effort to keep an eye out for anyone who might try and break up the fight.

“You’re right, Grant,” Rumlow agrees conversationally taking his eyes of Steve long enough to address his friend. Predictably and lamely attempt to save face by dismissing him so thoroughly. “Perhaps we should take the time to give Rogers here a lesson in being a proper omega,” he continues throng back towards Steve with a lecherous sneer. “Since he likes being on his knees so much, why don’t we give him a reason for it? Whaddya say, boys?”

“Don’t know about your boys here, but I say that sounds like a confession to commit sexual assault,” an authoritative contralto replied, startling Rumlow enough that he actually jumps with an undignified yelp escaping him.

Blocking the mouth of the alley and at the head of a group of officers is Detective Maria Hill, looking as imposing as ever in her trademark navy with her hair pulled back in a severe bun.

“What do we have here?,” is Hill’s rhetorical question as her fellow officers invade the alley to detain the trio. In that moment, Steve’s hard pressed to think of anything more satisfying than the sight of Rumlow, Ward, and Creel shoved up against a brick wall and handcuffed, nightsticks held at the back of their necks to keep them in place.

“Carrying of an illegal substance with the intent to distribute said illegal substance,” the alpha detective rattles off as one of the officers turns out the thugs pockets, “don’t know if you’ve heard but it's ungentlemanly, not to mention plain wrong, to roofie your date. And yeah, she’s still with it enough to know what happened and file a report. So, we’ve got attempted date rape by chemically inducing a heat, and then attempting to force an omega into sharing said chemically induced heat – an underage omega, mind you – all of which adds up to a felony. Especially when one takes into account why this particular compound is illegal – nasty stuff, this sex pollen,” she comments with obvious disgust, “potentially deadly for an omega if they don’t get knotted right away. Luckily for y’all, the girl’s chosen alpha decided he was okay with bonding her now instead of waiting until she came of age like they had planned. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to hold you until he decides if he’s going to press charges alongside the attempted rape charges she already filed. Good thing she’d realized you’d spiked her drink and tried to get away, otherwise the rohypnol would have kicked in sooner than it did.”

“You weren’t planning on slipping some to Rogers here, now were you? ‘Cause I gotta say boys, that would only compound your troubles, not solve them.”

The snarling sneer she got in response to her last question only proved her point.

“Well I think that just about covers it, did I miss anything?”

“Don’t think so,” Officer Blake answered her taking a great deal of delight in twisting Rumlow’s arms up behind him and shoving him out of the alley towards a waiting patrol car. Rumlow and his cronies had been a constant pain in the precincts side for years now, and they all obviously took great delight in finally having a solid reason to lock ‘em up.

“Right then, Mahoney, make sure that Rogers is seen by the paramedic, then bring him into the precinct for a statement.” With that, she stalked over to an idling car and took off.

“Hey Rogers,” a young officer smiled warmly at him, gently taking his elbow and leading Steve out to the waiting paramedics, ”we have to stop meeting this way, people are going to talk.” 

“Says you,” Steve grunted, as he allowed himself to be guided onto the back of the ambulance then pawed over by the EMT. “The only person’s opinion I worry about is Bess’s, and anyways, I just saw you a few weeks ago at Matt’s dinner party.”

**~***~**

“What am I going to do with you, Rogers?”

“Well you’ve patched me up already, guess you could let me go home to bed?” Steve replied cheekily. It was coming on three in the morning, and he had to be up by ten to get back to the restaurant for the lunch crowd. He’d already have a hell of a time explaining to his boss why he has the remains of a split lip and a blossoming black eye, not to mention other bumps and bruises that could put off a customer. It would go better if he wasn’t dead on his feet from overtiredness too.

All his cheekiness earned him, however, was an unimpressed look from the alpha and not much else. Steve smiled winningly up at her, completely undeterred by Maria’s customary gruffness. He’s known the alpha long enough to realize that her brusque exterior masked an inner softness. It was a tough world for a career woman – alpha she may be – to rise through the ranks and serve under a beta captain like Nick Fury.

“You’re not going anywhere yet, Rogers,” a familiar baritone interjected. Speak of the devil and he shall take notice. “Not until after you and I have a little chat, Hill.”

“Sir,” she answered with a nod, relinquishing the interview room to Fury. He settled, rather self-importantly, in the recently vacated chair across from Steve and regarded him with an impartial assessing gaze from his one remaining eye. Rumor has it that Fury had lost his other eye during a fight for dominance with his own deputy detective. Steve didn’t really believe it, but he couldn’t rule it out either. He did know that the two of them were officially unofficially mated, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how that one worked.

“This can’t happen again, Rogers,” came the growled opening salvo after a suitable time in which to make Steve squirm underneath his ever watchful gaze (tragically, for Fury, Steve was basically immune to that trick by now). He held up a hand to stall Steve’s protest before the omega could even think to open his mouth. 

“I know, I know, you were helping a fellow omega, and this time you’re clearly in the right and the law is obviously on your side, but you have to stop fighting Steve.” And that made him sit up and pay attention like nothing else could – the beta chief of detectives only ever called him by his first name if he was being deadly serious. “Turns out Rumlow’s lawyer is old friends with the commissioner, and they got to talking about the impropriety of a young omega running around the streets unsupervised, muttering about you being a poor lost hysterical creature in need of guidance before the unthinkable happens and you go feral.”

Nick pierced him with a sharp look then and Steve felt his face blanch as a sudden thought struck him.

“They decided that the best thing for you would be to send you to a treatment facility.”

“They can’t do that!,” he squawked hating the way his voice broke in his indignation.

“They can, because you’re not eighteen and have gotten yourself in enough trouble that the law would be on their side; as an omega and a known runaway, you are still technically considered a ward of the state. Thank god I’ve got a signed statement from your legal guardian already on file, otherwise I’d be shipping you out to a care facility of their choice instead of lecturing you right now.”

That brought Steve up short. He knew that technically he was a runaway; for that’s exactly what he had done after Abraham’s death, ran away from Brooklyn and the memories to take refuge in a youth shelter here in Hell’s Kitchen. His first ever run-in with the detective, he had been brought in on a truancy charge, and Fury had been itching to slip Steve back into the foster care system before a legal guardian had stepped forward and prevented it. Steve had never stopped to ask questions since it whoever this legal guardian was had stopped him from becoming a foster kid once again. But now he had to wonder what Fury meant. As far as he was concerned his last legal guardian had been Abraham and the beta had passed away three years ago in the terrorist attacks. It begged the question: who was Fury referring to?

Still, that didn’t stop him from breathing a sigh of relief. He had a pretty good idea just what type of place they would have shipped him off to, and there was no doubt in Steve’s mind that he would not have fared well there. While many omega care facilities were on the up and up, there were a few whose methods haven’t progressed much past those popular during the dark ages. Yeah, sure, there were laws to protect omegas, to prevent them from being abused, but there were still a handful of individuals and places that managed to flaunt those laws without breaking them. All in the best interest of the omegas they victimized, mind you, the poor dears couldn’t help themselves.

All in all it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“I’m going to have Mahoney escort you home – only because he’s going off shift now – but I need you to promise me, Rogers, that you’ll stop brawling in the street. I know you’ve got some moral code against running away from bullies, but I have a moral code about sending a kid off to obedience training to be broken.” 

“I’ll try Nick.” Steve finally conceded.

“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.”

**~***~**~***~**

“Why am I here?,” he demanded of Pepper for the twelfth time as he held out a chair first for her, then for Bruce, before claiming one for himself.

“Because you are so rarely in New York these days, so Bruce rarely gets a chance to see you. And he has a project proposal he wants you to hear,” Pepper answers mildly.

“Alright, that’s all well and good, very reasonable, in fact, but it still doesn’t answer my question – why am I _here_?,” he persisted, emphasizing the last word as if it was something disgusting. And, well, for Tony it might as well have been. He doesn’t do work lunches, he rarely does work, and this place was the most work lunch-y lunch place that ever did lunch – or something like that. Hush, you, it made sense in his head. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Bruce reassured his fellow scientist, smirking in that quiet way of his that wasn’t really a smirk but wasn’t not a smirk either. (Tony happened to find it absolutely adorable either way you sliced it). 

Evidently, Tony had said that last bit out loud without realizing it. “I should probably invest in a mental filter, not to mention a brain to mouth filter,” he muttered mostly (not at all) to himself.

“You really ought to,” Pepper agreed blithely, completely unfazed by her boss’s ‘one flew over the cuckoo’s nest’ routine, “as to why we’re meeting in public: a) you both need to eat and I know you won’t if we stayed in the lab and b), there are statistically fewer distractions for you when you’re in public, Tony. Don’t ask me why that is, it’s just a fact.”

“Ah-ha! But it’s not without its distractions, do you deny it?” He pointed out as if he was in a courtroom disproving someone’s alibi. Pepper merely favored him with a flat look that told him louder than any words ever could how much he was pressing his luck right now. Bruce simply covered his mouth to politely cough out something that sounded suspiciously more like a laugh than an actual cough.

“Speaking of distractions,-’ he simpered, batting his eyelashes coquettishly at the curly-haired omega, “what’s up, Doc? C’mon Brucie-bear, don’t leave me hanging. Let’s hear this proposal of yours.”

With a derisive snort, the omega launches into his project proposal, becoming more adamant the more he talks about the need for fully functioning prosthetics,and how much they would help amputees adjust to the loss of a limb post amputation and improve their quality of life. Tony loves listening to Bruce talk, the mild-mannered scientist façade he likes to portray quickly gets stripped away the more impassioned he feels about a topic, and Tony lives to witness that side of Bruce. The omega has always been far too controlled (a habit he picked up from a childhood spent living with a volatile alpha father and a meek beta mother and dealing the subsequent anger issues it bred) never allowing himself to just feel without first over-analyzing the source of and reaction to said feelings. But he forgets that as he starts to talk about things he truly cares for – usually that’s something science related and Tony, well, Tony thinks it’s some of the best dirty talk in the world. (Seriously, the number of hard-ons he’s sported thanks to various conversations with Bruce cannot be counted they are so frequent; it’s practically a Pavlovian response by now. Although one could make the argument that as a whole he’s one severely oversexed alpha and his default reaction to any stimuli is that of an erection; but there’s no need to be so finicky). 

They’re deep in conversation, with Pepper occasionally interjecting comments about logistics and legal concerns involving finding volunteers if they ever get the beta testing phase of the project, by the time the waiter joins them. Unobtrusively, whoever it is goes about removing the fourth place setting, then turns their water glasses and fills them with a waiting pitcher. It’s not until his full glass is being set back down in front of him that Tony actually notices the silent presence of the waiter. Well, what he first notices is a long-fingered hand that looks as if it’s better suited to clutching a paint brush rather than a water glass, and the slim wrist it’s attached to. There’s something almost birdlike about the slightly protruding wrist bone that disappears into a long-sleeved white dress shirt. Slowly, his eyes travel up the length of the stick thin arm to a wing like shoulder and an open neckline that calmly displays two protruding clavicles, then up the pale column of neck, to find a jaw one could cut rocks on. Eventually, he finds himself staring into the most dazzling pair of blue eyes he’s ever seen – eyes that have narrowed defensively at his slow perusal and if anything the defiant spark in their depths, along with the grisly purplish bruising around the left eye and over the bridge of his nose, only increases their radiance. 

And Tony, always with the speaking before thinking, blurts out; “What the hell are you doing?”

The immediate silence that meets his remarking is stunning in its clarity. Tony can practically taste the judgement coming off of Pepper in waves.

“Pouring you a glass of water sir,” a surprisingly deep baritone answers him and Tony finds himself resisting the urge to do an obvious double take at the sound. Talk about a Pavlovian response… “Did you not want any?”

“No, I mean I can see that you’ve just poured some water,” he babbles, floundering for a moment, and proving once again that he really needs a filter continues with, “what I meant was how the hell did a doll like you end up working as a waiter?” 

Those glorious eyes narrow further and that jaw clenches tantalizingly as the little blond haired waif attempts to keep whatever scathing comment Tony can see swimming in his gaze firmly behind his teeth. If Tony were the type to wear panties (or consistently wear any underwear at all) they would totally be dropping right about now. As it is, he can hear Bruce’s pain filled groan, and he doesn’t have to look at the scientist to know he just face palmed, nor does he need to look at Pepper to know that she’s trying to bore a hole in his skull with the weight of her disapproval. Although he visibly bristled, the little cutie doesn’t bother to respond to Tony, simply smoothly turns his attention to Pepper and hands her a menu.

“Miss Potts, Dr. Banner, welcome back,” he greets them with that deep voice and the passing familiarity of a waiter who's seen the same patrons more than once. “I’ll just leave the menu with you for a moment. Before I come back, can I get anyone something to drink other than water?”

He dutifully takes their drinks orders, writing them down quickly but not sparing a second glance at anyone (especially Tony) then with a quick shy smile, leaves the table and heads back towards the bar. Tony watches him go, completely unrepentant and unconcerned about being caught at it. There’s something mesmerizing about those slim hips and the slightly crooked spine attached to them. He continues to stare until a sharp kick to his shin brings his focus back towards his fellow diners. 

“Tony.” And that’s Pepper’s ‘don’t do the thing’ and ‘I’m disappointed in you’ tone of voice all mixed up into what he likes to refer to as the ‘holy shit I’m in for it now’ tone. Thankfully, there is still just enough of an edge of amusement to the rebuke to make him think that he’s got a chance of getting away with whatever cockamamie thing he ends up doing next, which is all the encouragement he’s ever needed.

“Pepper,” Tony announces needlessly, “I’ve found a distraction.”

Bruce simply sighs expansively and mutters, “I like this place. Please don’t make it impossible for me to come back.”

**~***~**~***~**

As predicted, Steve was dead on his feet after the night’s ordeal, and his temper suffered for it. It always when he‘s tired that his back and joints hurt him the most. A fact that wasn’t helped by the various bruises he’d gathered after multiple forceful introductions to the ground. Thankfully, the lunch hour business was rather slow today, and he was working with Foggy, so that helped to keep him in good spirits.

Overall, he doesn’t mind having to work multiple minimum wage jobs just to keep afloat. He simply minds how bone tired he is after getting the crap beat out of him,then being kept up all night for doing the right thing. Thankfully, today he only had the substituted shift with Frenchie to work, and by three o’clock, he would be back to having his regularly scheduled day off. And sure, he’s honest enough with himself to know that he would be happier if he’d finished high school, instead of dropping out, then went on to college, but he’s also proud of what he has managed to accomplish in the three years he’s been left on his own. It’s not a luxurious life – not even a comfortable one at times – but it is his, _thankyouverymuch_ , and he could do without other people trying to shame him for it.

He can also do without those very same people looking at him like he was some particularly tasty little morsel they couldn’t wait to get their mouth on.

“I’m talking about you Mister VIP,” he muttered vehemently under his breath, taking a second to glare daggers at the brunet currently holding court at the only occupied table in the restaurant's VIP area. It’s only the fourth table he’s waited on so far this shift, and the GQ model of an alpha has already, impressively, gotten on his nerves. Granted, it doesn’t take much in his overtired state, but still, the man appears to have made it his job to get under Steve’s skin. 

It’s especially impressive when one takes into the consideration the fact that he’s only been here for twenty-five minutes or so and has managed to not only thoroughly aggravate Steve, but down three alcoholic beverages long before the starters he and his colleagues had ordered were even delivered to his table. The only thing more impressive than the alpha’s capacity to annoy is Miss Potts disapproving eye roll every time he’s flagged Steve down to refresh his drink order.

“What was that, Steve-o?,” one of his fellow servers asks.

“Nuthin’,” he mutters, embarrassed at being overheard. It’s bad enough he came into today exhausted and obviously beat up; he doesn’t need to add ‘talks to himself’ to the list of things that makes him stand out. Noticeably girding his loins (with a sigh and a squaring of his shoulders) he prepares to approach the jovial seeming business meeting and get everyone’s order for an entrée. 

“Is everyone ready to order?,” he asks as he sidles up to the table, smoothly interjecting his question into a naturally occurring gap in the conversation. Long practice, and an obsessive self-awareness, makes him carefully smooth out his accent so that no trace of his native Brooklyn shows. This here was a classy joint, and they just didn’t let any ‘ol riffraff work here; certainly not some kid born in DUMBO then raised in Red Hook. And as his boss had been fond of lamenting it was bad enough that today he came in looking like the riffraff, he didn’t need to sound like it too. 

“That depends sweetheart, are you on the menu?” The man with his overly constructed facial hair flirts outrageously at Steve (as he’s done every single time Steve’s approached the table) going so far as to lay his cheek in his palm and bat his eyelashes coquettishly at the omega.

Steve would be more inclined to be flattered by the attention if he hadn’t already seen him try that exact same move on both of his lunch companions. Ignoring the question, and the man,he turns to Dr. Banner, a male omega with curly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses that Steve has waited on enough times to feel comfortable with using his name.

“What can I get for you today Dr. Banner?,” He asks, hand poised expectantly over his order pad. It makes his skin itch to deliberately turn his back on an alpha but he does it anyways, waiting patiently for a reply. Steve knows that most alphas would take him turning his back on them as a deliberate challenge and insult; part of him is relieved when the man simply laughs it off, the rest of him is annoyed. Of course _this_ alpha couldn’t be bothered to be bothered. Banner takes a moment to smile indulgently at the giggling alpha before turning his attention towards Steve and placing his order. Steve quickly jots it down and then turns his attention to Miss Potts, another regular who’s ordering habits Steve has managed to memorize, she’s in here so often.

“Another cobb salad, Miss Potts?” he inquires, and the red-headed beta smiles as she nods in agreement.

“Have I become that predictable?” She asks, her smile widening and inviting him to join in on the joke. He favors her with a polite smile of his own (nothing to big as to not disturb his freshly scabbed over split lip) and a teasing,

“Never,” at which she chuckles warmly. It’s a well-worn exchange by this point, and Steve takes comfort from its familiarity. 

Reluctantly, he shifts his attention back to the alpha. He waits with his hand remaining impressively steady as the alpha rakes his whiskey brown eyes over Steve, obviously checking him out for the umpteenth time. The weight of his eyes feel like a private silken caress across his skin, and Steve stifles the instinctive shiver they dredge up. He doesn’t care for the heat of the alpha’s gaze at all.

(Liar, liar, pants on fire). 

Despite his own internal monologue, Steve doesn’t react outside of raising one eyebrow in a classic expression of ‘I’m waiting.’He’s quite proud of himself for that considering the fact that he’s had enough of this man, and is about two seconds away from starting to throw punches.

The alpha smirks as the seconds tick by waiting for Steve to react, anticipating it really. He’s going to have to get use to disappointment then, because Steve has no intention of giving in now. In fact, he has no intentions of doing anything other than performing his job to the best of his abilities.

“You never did answer my question puddin’, are you one of today’s specials?,” he eventually caved, regaling Steve with yet another over the top flirty expression. He’s not amused by yet another douchey alpha trying to worm his way into his pants.

“I’m sorry sir, but today’s specials – ”

“Alright, alright, sheesh, tough crowd,” he interrupts, sounding both dismissive and amused by Steve’s refusal to flirt back. “Since you won’t fill my craving, I guess I’ll settle for a slice of your New York cheesecake and another scotch.”

“Tony…” Pepper warned him, sounding both concerned and disappointed all at once. It wasn’t the first time since they sat down that she had said his name like that, and Steve had learned to ignore the byplay as effectively as he had learned to suppress an unprofessional eye roll. He quickly jotted down ‘Tony’s’ order then collected the menus; a sugar load on top of a, frankly, gratuitous consumption of alcohol. Yeah, like that’s gonna work out well for the idiot.

“What! Can you blame me Pep? The kid’s a walking toothache.”

And Steve can’t ignore that, he really can’t.

“Then you should probably go see a dentist,” he shoots over his shoulder, before walking (storming) back to the relative safety of the kitchen. He doesn’t know how the table reacted to his parting remark, and he doesn’t care to find out.

**~***~**~***~**

“I want one.”

“Tony, no.”

“Tony, yes.”

“No,” good grief, the woman was stubborn, and normally he liked that, but right now he kind of hated it.

“Pepper, I _need_ one.” He tried again, whining a little in an effort to impress upon her how necessary this was. 

“Like you need another hole in your head,” his notoriously Zen science bro responded with an alarming growl making his voice gruff. An angry Bruce was a scary Bruce. Unfortunately, once he was a few drinks in, Tony lost any sense of self-perseverance he had; which admittedly wasn’t much to begin with.

“No need for the green-eyed monster routine, Brucie baby, you’re still my favorite.” Not only was that comment incredibly condescending, but it was also unbelievably insensitive of him (especially when one took into account the fact that there's always been an undeniable hum of unresolved sexual tension between them - something that's Tony always known but never did anything about). He covered up the urge to wince with a cocky grin.

“Just for that, you’re approving my project and helping me with it.” 

“Fair enough.”

...

They don't see the little waif again after that, and Tony can't help but feel disappointed about that. He does everything he can think about to prolong their lunch meeting, but eventually Pepper and Bruce declare their lunch finished and demand that he leaves with them – okay, so, more like Pepper threatens to have Happy drag him out of the place by the scruff of his neck if he doesn’t get up and leave with them _right, now damn it Tony!_ – and reluctantly he does. But not before he slips the slightly pudgy and straggly haired alpha that had taken over waiting their table, for some inexplicable reason unbeknownst to Tony (Okay, o-kay it was totally known, and not all that inexplicable really. He’d come on too hard, and his little waif didn’t appear to be one of those omegas who were so easily overwhelmed by a few pickup lines – see he could take a hint!), a napkin with his number on it to pass along to the blue-eyed little spitfire. It had grated on his nerves to pass the note along. One, because it felt too much like grade-school, and Tony had been above all that grade-school bullshit before he was even old enough for grade-school (no he hadn’t; he never would be) and two, he wasn’t sure how this dude fit into the spitfire’s life, and it felt too much like tipping his hand to a potential rival. 

A notion he was rather quickly dissuaded of when the kid broke out into a bright mischievous smile.

“Uh, so that explains it.”

“Explains what?” 

“Why Steve’s being so pissy. He always gets flustered when people flirt with him.”

“Does he now,” Tony quips all sorts of smug at the thought. Apparently, the omega hadn’t been as indifferent as he’d wanted to seem.

“Sure does, but people always flirt with him just to get a rise out of him, so he doesn’t take it seriously anymore.” He agrees congenially enough, but then his demeanor changes and Tony’s reminded that he was an alpha too, “So if this is just a booty call for you, I suggest you go elsewhere to get your kicks. Steve’s a friend, and my mate and I are training to become kick ass lawyers, so if you hurt Steve, I’ll hurt you where it counts: your wallet.”

And with that attempt at a dire warning,he walks off.

“Rude,” it was a kneejerk remark, and he couldn’t help but think that it applied more to himself than the waiter.

Still, Tony wasn’t ever one to take no for an answer. People said patience is a virtue, but Tony knows that persistence pays better.

**~***~**~***~**

Upon reaching the relative safety of the kitchen, he puts in the group's order, then declares that he’s taking his meal break and makes Foggy cover for him. One look at the stormy expression on his face and Foggy’s all too happy to take over for him, even offering to continue covering his section until the current occupants leave. It’s an unexpected and greatly appreciated offer, one that Steve doesn’t hesitate to accept. (The fact that Steve’s always willing to step up and cover a shift for Foggy at a moment’s notice probably helped spur his generosity in the first place). 

When he gets back from his break, the lunch rush has truly kicked in and Steve’s left hopping to and fro as he tries to keep all of the hoady-toady business types happy enough to tip him – thank god. He’s working the main floor now, deciding to make the switch between him and Foggy permanent for the rest of their shared shift so that Foggy won’t have to worry about missing out on the good tips he’s actually worked for. He’s kept so busy that he doesn’t even notice when Dr. Banner, Miss Potts and the troublesome alpha leave. As a matter of fact, Steve doesn’t have spare second of thought to spare them until the end of his shift when Foggy hands him a scribbled on napkin.

“What’s this?” He demands, eyebrows pulling together in a perplexed frown.

“Guess he liked you,” is Foggy’s response, nonchalantly noncommittal as only Foggy can be. Shocked, Steve peers down at the napkin again, actually taking the time to read the horrible chicken scratch blazoned across it:

_**I like you, you’re sassy Tony Stark 212-263-5870**_ Complete with a crude drawing of a smiley-face with heart eyes. He can't shake the impression that it's mocking him.

“That asshole was Tony Stark?,” he finds himself exclaiming, looking back up at Foggy, feeling his eyes widen from his own surprise.

“Yeah, man, you didn’t know that? Of course you didn’t, you’ve got some weird prejudice against celebrities and celebrity culture,” Foggy answers his own question ruefully shaking his head. Steve doesn’t have some sort of weird prejudice he just can’t afford a TV right now and he doesn’t see the point of following what basically is nothing more than spiteful gossip…okay so he may be a tad prejudiced; but that’s neither here nor there. He tunes back into Foggy just in time to hear;

“Hey, look, if you don’t want to call him you could probably sell that napkin on eBay and make a fortune. Not only does it have his signature, but a phone number too! People would sell you their unborn children to get their grubby mitts on that.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, too stunned by the revelation to really process what he was hearing. When he finally did parse out what Foggy was saying, he grinned ruefully, a thousand percent positive that he wouldn’t be doing that despite how lucrative it might be. 

“Why would I want someone else’s kids when I’m not even sure I want my own?,” he asked, trying to make a joke and politely shutting down Foggy at the same time.

“Beats me man, that’s just something people say. Not like I actually think you would do that ,or even should! Just sayin’ that you could. Christ, man, your luck!” Foggy comments, shaking his head in disbelief, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Steve laughs along with him. He takes the napkin and shoves it into the bottom of his messengers bag to be forgotten– out of sight, out of mind and all that jazz.

He wishes he could forget about it. No, really, he wished Stark forgot about him.


End file.
